


ride 'em cowgirl

by flybluejay



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Ben likes his tricks AND his treats, Bondage, College Student Rey (Star Wars), Consensual, Consensual Sex, Cowgirl Position, Desk Sex, Devoted Kylo Ren, Devoted Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Doggy Style, Dom/sub Undertones, Domme!Rey, Domme!Rey vibes, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gags, HEA, HEA Guaranteed, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Happy Ending, Holidays, Lap Sex, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Mention of Pregnancy (Off-screen Character Only), Modern Era, Mutual Pining, Office Sex, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Multiple, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Professor Ben Solo, Restraints, Rey knows how to ride, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship, Trick or Treat: Treat, Trick or Treat: Trick, Trick or Treating, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vaginal, Vaginal Sex, Woman on Top, female on top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27246727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flybluejay/pseuds/flybluejay
Summary: Ben Solo is a doctoral-student-turned-professor who wants nothing more than to stop pining for his student Rey Johnson.  When Rey shows up at his doorstep while trick-or-treating on Halloween night, he slams the door in her face after barking out, “Trick!”So what trick does Rey decide to play on poor, unsuspecting, desperately horny Mr. Solo?Trick-or-treating gone wrong … or gone very, very right.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 111
Kudos: 391
Collections: Fall Fic Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [infinitegalaxies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitegalaxies/gifts).



> Prompt: _trick or treating with a twist - what's the twist? you decide!_
> 
> This fic is fully complete and will be updating regularly. The tags will update with each chapter as well.
> 
> Enjoy the [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5sBEfaN7TqO8R5bIwfhSaq?si=N6KMTHuEQWaDioR0ATivQQ)! Special thanks to my beta, friend, and writing partner-in-crime [Maarii88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maarii88).

Quita la cadena, pago con mi pena cada respirar

_Take off the chain, I pay in shame with every breath_

Quita la cadena, tu mirada me condena

_Take off the chain, your gaze condemns me_

— [“Quita la cadena” (Gina Chavez)](https://open.spotify.com/track/62902rnwn45K70CtWfM0GN?si=623Yglh8QxKi6xiz5SJb-w)

* * *

“He can manifest his destiny all over my chest if I have anything to say about it.”

Rey snorts into her paper, then starts, “You know, he’s actually quite ni—”

“His train can pull right into my station, if you catch my —”

Someone else — Rose — slaps Jannah before she can finish. 

“I’d let him ride me all over the country, if you know what I mean.”

Rey stops trying to defend him and lets out another muffled guffaw, crumpling into her desk.

“Miss Tran! Miss Johnson!”

The three girls immediately straighten, staring daggers into the PowerPoint.

“Care to share what you were chatting about, Miss Calrissian?”

“No, sir,” Jannah says, with a barely-concealed smile. 

“Oh, _really.”_

Rey hears footsteps approach their side of the classroom, but she doesn’t dare look away from the screen. 

She already knows what she’ll see: an absolute _unit_ of a man.

A full-force freight train.

A man rumored to be hung like a horse.

The most perfect example of masculinity Rey has ever been witness to: Mr. Solo.

Mr. Solo was a doctoral student, turned adjunct, turned temporary faculty while Dr. Holdo was on maternity leave. His preferred outfits always seemed to include a neutral-colored oxford, sleeves rolled tight around his forearms. His hands, large and mouthwateringly muscular, were often wrapped around a whiteboard marker as he lectured, and if the day was especially warm, somehow the top buttons of his shirt would come undone and she would catch a glimpse of the hollow of his throat.

Rey hadn’t yet told her friends, but whenever she’d visited his office hours, she had had more than a few daydreams about lifting a single finger to dip into that very hollow.

A mere three days after Dr. Holdo’s absence had begun, he had been firmly established as an unequivocal ten out of ten amongst the general population of female underclassmen. Now, a month later, he was rumored to be a sex god who could take the virginity of any unsuspecting, fortunate freshman just by staring at them for too long.

His body is tense as a bull’s, broad shoulders expanding and straining under the fabric of his shirt. Rey has never denied to herself how attractive he seemed to her, how his body seemed to speak to her on a primal level. 

“Keep talking with your friends over here, and you won’t have any choice on whether or not you share your thoughts. Do you understand, Miss Calrissian?”

Oh, and he was a grumpy old arsehole, as well. 

“Mr. Solo!” she hears herself say. 

It’s all too easy for her to give in to the perverse urge to undermine him. Something about the fact that he was at least five or ten years older than her made her want to lash out and … _misbehave._

_Don’t call me Professor Solo,_ he’d said. _I’m not your professor. I’m just covering till Dr. Holdo gets back. Besides,_ he’d added with a smirk and a glare, _Professor makes me sound like I’m forty-five years old, and I can assure you I am_ much _younger than that._

 _You most_ certainly _are,_ Rey had thought to herself approvingly. 

“Mr. Solo!” 

“Miss Johnson, I am in the middle of —”

“I was curious if any women worked on the railroad as it was being built. Women have played such a _fascinating_ role in your country’s history — in fact, I’d be interested in writing my essay on it.”

Rey stares at him innocently, feigning interest as she leans much too far forward over her desk. 

Rose lets out one last snort before ducking her head back down.

“Come to my office hours if you want to talk to me about your essay, Miss Johnson.” He circles a threatening finger around the girls’ cluster of desks, eyebrows tilted in the severest of angles. “I won’t have any of you interrupting again.”

As Mr. Solo continues reading the slides, one picture in particular captures Rey’s eye. She turns to her friends, a wild look in her eye.

“Girls, I think I know what my Halloween costume’s going to be.”

* * *

Ben sighs much too loudly, one hand shoved in his hair as he tosses paperwork on his desk. 

“Fuckin’ … _essays_. _Ugh.”_

When he’d started his doctoral program, he never dreamed he’d be asked to cover a whole three month’s worth of classes. 

Adjuncting? Yes.

Grading? Sure. 

Babysitting underclassmen while teaching them about the American West for the millionth time in their lives? Painstakingly reading hundreds of essays on the same boring topics? _Hell_ no.

He huffs without words, dragging another hand through his hair. 

Suddenly there is a knock on the door. Without a word from him, it pushes open, and in steps the very _last_ person Ben ever wants to let see him when he’s like this.

“Miss Johnson.”

Miss Johnson, indeed. 

There she is again, in one of those tops that ends just a little too short and hugs her torso just a little too tight. 

Lately she’d been favoring corduroy skirts in warm fall colors, the ones with oversized buttons down the middle, and without fail, the entire combination makes him want to kneel and pull the whole thing down her legs, completely disregarding any button or zipper in his way. 

She was more than he’d bargained for in his life, that was certain. 

Like the most idiotic man there ever was, he had searched for her Instagram, because apparently every college student had one nowadays, and the pictures he’d found … well, they’d been fodder enough for the whole month he’d taken over for Holdo. He’d found himself checking back at random moments hoping she posted something new that day and _praying_ that she wouldn’t decide to make her account private. 

Even if he were to write an essay, a poem, a dissertation on the body and mind of Rey Johnson, there was no guarantee that it would help him. So, in the effort of saving himself some time, he just continued jerking off every night to his fantasies of a student who was ten years his junior.

Sure, there was a little dimple nestled in her right cheek that never failed to draw his eye. 

Yes, her smile was gorgeously white. 

Yes, she was slim and pretty and fit and petite and just the right height to fit under his chin. 

But there was also the way her nose wrinkled. 

The tiny beauty marks above her breasts that he only noticed when he was close enough to drop papers on her desk. 

And that sweet, sweet ass that curved under skirt after skirt, promising him the whole world and more if he could just catch a glimpse of the bare skin underneath. 

He was only intimately familiar with her many excellent features because she actually came to his open office hours to ask for help.

Sure, he could write an essay on her body alone. But there was also the matter of the woman herself, and the combination of idiosyncrasies and strengths that seemed specifically combined to torment him.

She’d sit and perch on the edge of her chair, almost constantly smiling, asking him question after question and never holding his eyes too long to be inappropriate.

 _I’m terrible with the humanities,_ she’d confessed to him that first day. _But I like to learn, and I like to do my best._ For some reason, he believed her more than the three other female students who had come in that day who didn’t seem to have any real questions, but who seemed intent on staring at him and making him supremely uncomfortable as he tried to ask them what they’d come in for.

Rey’s eyes would float down to whatever paper they were discussing, then back up to him. But she refused to let her gaze linger too long on his face.

 _Look at me,_ he’d think. _I want to see you._

Her beauty marks, he noticed another day when she was bent over a pop quiz he’d given last minute. He’d been up late researching for his dissertation and hadn’t had time to plan his class that day. While scribbling down notes at his desk, he had glanced up just for a moment to see her shirt gaping open, low enough for him to see … 

He quickly dragged his eyes up, but not before he also noticed that she was reading and re-reading intently before carefully filling in an answer.

She’d gotten only an average grade on that quiz, but for some reason he got the impression she was really trying to do her best. 

When he passed back the papers, that was when he noticed the beauty marks.

And her nose, the way it wrinkled … well, he had noticed it since that very first day of class. He passed her in the hallway, and she was laughing so hard and so freely with her friends that the corner of his mouth had tilted up before he could even stop himself. 

Yes, in conclusion, Ben was _not_ okay. 

“Mr. Solo? Is this a bad time? 

_God,_ he forgot about her voice. 

That was the last and best thing he’d imagine before coming into his hand: her voice, throaty and deep, crying _Yes!_ and _Ben!_ in that accent she had … 

_Fuck._ He was a goner. 

“It’s fine, Miss Johnson. Come in.” Even he’s impressed at how detached his voice sounds.

She seats herself at the chair in front of his desk, pushing aside papers to set down her laptop case. “I know I tell you this all the time, Mr. Solo, but you can call me Rey. Dr. Holdo always did.”

“I prefer to keep things a little more professional, Re-Miss Johnson. And in the interest of that, can I ask what you needed help with?” 

He sounds stern. _Good._ Better stern than desperately horny.

“Well, I mentioned I wanted to write my essay on women’s role in Manifest Destiny? Specifically women who might’ve helped build the railroad. Do you know anything about them?”

“A bit,” Ben counters. He rests his ass against the desk, still standing. “Can I ask what the interest is, Miss Johnson?”

“Well, actually,” she leans forward, looking at him intently as she continued, “I wasn’t sure if you knew, but I’m an engineering major.”

Did Ben know? Of course he knew. It’s not like he had asked around trying to figure out what program she was in (he had). It haunted him, the fact that this woman was not only gorgeous but intelligent, analytical, and inquisitive … and an undergrad.

“— and so the working of steam trains actually _fascinates_ me.”

In an effort to catch up on what she’d been saying when he spaced out, Ben follows up with: “And how do those trains work, if you don’t mind me asking?”

It’s something he did often whenever she came in for office hours: ask her more about something she was interested in so he could buy himself time to simply _look_ at her and listen to her talk. 

Sometimes, on days he was feeling particularly put-upon, he’d pretend they were in a coffee shop somewhere far away from campus, and he was listening to her talk like they were _actually_ on a date. 

But they were still stuck on campus — still professor and student in this terrible roleplay of a relationship designed specifically to torture Ben. 

Speaking of torture, right about then he had a growing desire to kick himself for asking about trains, because listening to Rey describe _steam_ and _force_ and _pistons_ and _pressure_ seems particularly calculated to make various parts of him _clench_ in restraint. 

“You see, it has to do with how much steam is allowed to gather before it can _burst,_ really …”

“Depending on how quickly the pressure is released, that will affect how quickly the pistons thrust the engine into motion …”

“Of course, you can imagine how hot and sweaty a person had to be while stoking the fire —” 

“Stop!” Ben finds himself barking. “Did you come in here to lecture me about trains or ask for help on your essay?”

“But … _you_ asked me about the trains, Mr. Solo?” Rey is clearly very confused, and Ben feels terrible about it, but his hands are clenched on the desk, and he has to get her out of there before his hard on hits her in the face. He’s impressed his slacks are keeping him down as it is. 

Once she realizes Ben is not going to say anything else, Rey gathers her laptop off his desk and stands up to leave. Ben tries very hard not to breathe too loud, although he does catch a whiff of her lotion that nearly makes him sprint behind his desk.

In a hard, low voice, she mutters, “I’ll email you about it, then,” and slips out the door with one last searching glance at his face.

Ben locks the door, pulls down the blinds, and tips himself up in his pants to relive some of the pressure. 

_“Fuuuuuck.”_

Still standing against the desk with a fist propped under his chin, Ben and his dick both spend some time perched in thought, meditating on their shared problem. 

Ben has never considered himself an especially moral guy, but he feels all kinds of guilty when he thinks of how badly he wants her. 

He repeats his plan till his hard on calms down enough to rearrange himself in his pants and stuff his paperwork into his messenger bag. 

The plan was this: once Holdo came back from maternity leave, he would let the university know he couldn’t adjunct anymore. Then, he’d be off scot-free. He’d be just another doctoral student with a crush — or whatever this was — on a beautiful undergrad.

Two more months. Just two more months he has to hold out.

And then he could … what? 

Ask for her number? Take her out to coffee? 

Fuck her into his sheets till they were both a sweaty mess?

 _All of the above,_ Ben thinks as he strides to his car. _The correct answer is D, all of the above._

* * *

Rey throws her backpack into the corner of the room and lets out an exaggerated, “Well, then!”

“What’d he say?” The other girls are lounging around their shared dorm room, in various states of undress and in various stages of eating. 

“I don’t know!” Rey throws her hands up and huffs. “I asked him about the essay, and then he asked me how _steam_ trains work, of all things — pass me the crisps — and I couldn’t _believe_ that he was actually interested. But when I started explaining it to him,” she says through a mouthful of chips, “he completely lost it! He asked whether or not I’d come to talk about my essay. Incredibly,” she swallows, _“rude_ man.”

“He’s a guy. He couldn’t handle that you knew more than him about mechanical things.” Rose sips her drink, typing one-handed on her phone. She doesn’t look up when she says, “Did you dress up for him, by the way? I’ve only seen you wear that on dates.”

Rey ignores her. “I’d _thought_ since he asked me about the trains that he was genuinely interested. We’ve had such helpful conversations in other office hours. Till about halfway through, when he started looking angrier and angrier …” Rey trailed off, trying to figure it out. “It was definitely after he asked me about the trains.” 

Jannah sat up suddenly. “You didn’t start giving him your talk on steam trains, did you? Because last time you started giving me that talk, I had to, er, relieve some pressure.”

Rose makes a face, then throws a second bag of chips at Rey. “She’s right, Rey. The way you talk about trains is such a turn-on. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Solo wasn’t jerking off right …”

The girls look at each other, eyes wide in sudden realization. 

Without saying a word, Jannah points at Rey. Horrified, Rey starts shaking her head violently as Rose cracks up. The room is still completely silent as two of the three girls collapse with laughter.

Jannah finally stops shaking long enough to gasp, “Rey, there is _no_ way we’re letting you change your Halloween costume now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fic updates and fun if you follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/flybluejay_).
> 
> The next chapter will be posted on Sunday, November 1st — something fun to read while you recover from your Halloween festivities!
> 
> I have no idea whether or not doctoral students are asked to take on classes for professors who go on maternity leave. My inclination is to say that they don’t, but per tradition, realism had to be sacrificed at the altar of Reylo ;) Please read with a sense of humor.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Halloween night. What do Rey and company have up their sleeves?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is fully complete and will be updating regularly. The tags will update with each chapter as well. **Note: no new tags were added for chapter 2.**

I don’t get the point of your game

I guess I always knew you wanted to

Play with me

 _—_ [ Learn Your Lesson (Madison McFerrin) ](https://open.spotify.com/track/4hHl3fgeCKJoo87hF8WAcm?si=vDo4PyCgQs-1MTHPTi7g7g)

* * *

Ben had always hated Halloween.

Ever since that day in second grade that some snot-nosed kid suggested that Ben should go as Dumbo because of how big his ears were, Ben had hated Halloween.

It was bad enough that he had to deal with all manner of growing bodies and raging hormones while teaching on campus. Somehow, as an adult, the parade of snot-nosed kids who hated his guts had never stopped. 

So it is with great self-satisfaction, along with a smug grin for all of his childhood bullies, that Ben fills a bowl with apples and leaves it outside his door with the porch light off.

_That ought to keep them from ringing the doorbell. And let no one say I am the source of a child’s cavities._

He’s all set to have a relaxing, quiet evening to himself. He’s caught up on grading, his inbox is quiet because his students and colleagues are out wandering the streets, and he is hidden quietly away with a single light on in the living room. He has time to do and think about whatever he wants, for once. 

So why he then proceeds to spend the next two hours researching bonsai trees and how to care for them, he has no idea. Hunched over his computer, blue light beating on his eyes, he mindlessly scrolls and scrolls.

All right, so he _may_ have an idea of why he’s doing it, but he’s not ready to admit anything to himself yet. Not on this dark, quiet night where he is all alone with just his thoughts and an empty bed …

He gets up from his desk chair so quickly that it spins and flips on the light by his bookshelf. He plants his hands on his hips and glares at the wall of books.

Fine. If his mind _had_ to drift to things related to work and the university, he could do some more research for his dissertation. 

He pulls out a book he’d only gotten halfway through and thumbs through till he finds the scrap of paper to mark his place. It’s a fascinating section on the importance of horses in the American West. 

Ben is engrossed for two chapters, having sat down sometime after the part about how Native Americans domesticated their animals, when the book seems to take a completely unexpected turn into the art and skill of horseback riding. 

This description of the different gaits of a horse and the way the different equipage is used seems to be … well, altogether too long to read. Truthfully, this section was really completely uncalled for in the chapter, if Ben had anything to say about it. 

And why the hell was it so detailed about the _movements_ of the horse?

A _rolling_ rhythm?

Bouncing? Jostling? Urging up and down?

Control with the bit? With _whips?_

He again stands up too fast and slams the book shut. 

Well, maybe work-related things weren’t the best thing to focus on right now. 

He opens a cabinet in his kitchen and lifts out a scotch. Hux recommended it to him, and Ben would bet his life on Hux’s good taste in liquor, so he knows it’s bound to be good. 

He pours himself a bit more than he really should, but he’s nice and alone tonight, as his brain so thoughtfully keeps reminding him. Nice and alone in this empty house with the empty bed and an empty lap …

Desperately, he slams open the cabinet with his drinking glasses. Oh, this organization was all wrong. He’d probably last looked at it two years ago when he moved in, and now he had a _much_ better idea of which glasses he’d use more frequently. 

He shuffles glasses and dishes till he loses track of time, letting the buzz of NPR in the background lull him into an absentminded rhythm. Every now and then, he stops to take a sip of his scotch and gradually, the thing he’d been trying to remember all evening — or was it the thing he’d been trying to forget? — rises to the top of his mind.

This scotch … It was such a lovely amber color. And yet it had a slightly soft green tinge to it in the bottle … just like the green of her eyes.

Or was it her top? 

He shakes his head. No, her top had been green on Wednesday. 

It was her skirt! That was it. Her skirt on Friday — amber and corduroy.

He hums to himself as he remembers, tossing back more scotch and reaching again for the bottle to refill his glass. Maybe more of this would help him remember how she looked that day.

 _So it was,_ he swallows, enjoying the warmth in this throat, _the amber corduroy skirt, the white sweater_ — _off-the-shoulder, of course, just to torment him_ — _and her hair down and around her perfect face._

 _And how could he forget,_ he swallows another finger, frowning out the window, _how could he forget the way she’d raised her hand and looked at him so innocently?_

 _Her accented_ “Mr. Solo?” _had gone straight to his dick._

_And then she tied her hair up in that ponytail while she was taking his cock — uh, quiz — but she’d forgotten one strand and it curled around her neck and the way she’d chewed on her pencil, pink lips and teeth molding around —_

His fingers squeeze the glass much too hard. He sighs as he resigns himself to the fact that he isn’t going to be able to enjoy his night because his house and his bed and his lap are all empty. He’s already halfway up the stairs with his thumb hovering over Instagram, ready to type in her username _(rey-loves-you-xoxo),_ when the doorbell rings.

_What the hell?_

He heads back down the stairs and turns off NPR. It’s after ten p.m., but he can still hear kids’ voices outside. 

On the other side of the door he can hear shuffling and giggling and chattering, and it irks him because he _knows_ his porch light is off and the bowl is full of apples, so why are some dumb kids still — 

_“What?”_ He yanks open the door. 

Can’t see a thing. He turns to flick on the light.

“What?” he repeats. He tries to make his voice sound even more threatening the second time.

“Hey, Mr. Solo, that’s a pretty good impression of Darth Vader!”

“Yeah, think your voice can go any deeper?” Laughter.

Students. _Fuck_. 

And not just any students. _Her_ friends. 

He does his best to direct his focus across the street and over their heads. If _she_ is in this gaggle of girls, he’s the last person who needs to know. 

He wags a hand at them, as though he can push them away with just a gesture. “You need to leave. Now.”

“Not before we get our candy,” Miss Calrissian prods. Her costume shifts as she moves her basket in her hands.

“Yeah, we knocked ‘cause the bowl is empty.” Miss Tran gestures down. 

He snatches it off the ground. “If the bowl is empty, it’s because there’s nothing left. So you need to leave me alone.” 

“What was in the bowl anyway?”

“What do you ca —”

“Trick or treat, Mr. Solo?”

And there it is. 

The most delicious British accent known to man. 

He lifts his eyes with great trepidation, knowing there is, oh, a _ten out of ten_ _chance_ the sight he’s about to see will be what he jerks off to as soon as he gets inside.

There stands Miss Johnson, wearing a tiny red crop top with buttons and white ruffles that draw his eyes to her breasts and sets her very trim waist on full display — no surprise there, since tops showing off her midriff seem to be more than half her wardrobe, based on what she wears to class. The shirt seems to have a checkered pattern, which strikes him as a bit odd.

She has a denim skirt, except it doesn’t really seem to be a legitimate piece of clothing because it barely covers her ass, and Ben would bet his watch collection that there’s either nothing, or a flimsy bit of _practically_ nothing, under her skirt. 

He’s moved to wonder whether she has _ever_ had anything on under her skirts.

She’s also wearing boots that make her legs seem miles longer and her ass seem even rounder than usual. 

_Boots?_

His slightly tipsy brain finally registers that this is a Western-themed costume: she’s a cowgirl.

Miss Johnson — _Rey,_ his mind whispers — is a _cowgirl._

Below her cowboy hat is her pretty face with that smirk that’s flirty and bashful and innocent and naughty all at once — _how does she do it?_ — with something that looks like — _is that excitement?_ — shining in her eyes.

He’s confused, very confused, by the coil of rope that hangs from her skirt, and no, he’s not turned on by the sight of it at _all._ That would be inexplicable, if he were turned on by the sight of Miss Johnson with rope on her person — completely illogical, and not at _all_ within the realm of normal reaction — no, not for Ben Solo.

He has to shut this down, or he’ll get suspended or have to transfer his degree program or some other shit like that, all because he can’t stop eyefucking his student.

He’s just opened his mouth to tell them off when:

“I _said,_ trick or treat, Mr. Solo?” 

She looks at him with those knowing eyes, and Ben can’t help feeling like he’s walked into a trap. 

Feeling caged, he spits, “Trick!” and slams the door in their faces.

He stands behind the closed door, fist tightening till it hurts. On the other side of the door, the girls whisper back and forth hurriedly, till their voices eventually fade away.

Back in his room, he sits heavily on the bed before pulling his shirt off and setting his phone on the nightstand with a sigh.

He’s not going to need to look up any photos to know what he’s going to dream about that night.

* * *

“Finn was right. I _knew_ he lived around here!”

“I told you, you can’t come back empty-handed, or you’re sleeping in the lobby for the rest of the _week.”_

“That’s _rubbish,_ Rose, and you know it! The night guard would kick me out.” Rey can’t believe what she’s hearing. 

“Guess you’d have to find somewhere else to sleep then.” The smaller woman grins archly.

It’s sometime after one a.m., and the three girls are parked in the lot of their apartment, arguing over the most outrageous dare Rey has ever gotten since freshman year … and Rey has followed through on many an outrageous dare.

But none of them involved her handsome, far-too-old-for-her professor who she may or may not have a thing for.

“He said _trick,_ didn’t he, Rey? And you know you want to.” Jannah doesn’t try to hide her smile as her mouth curves around a lolly. “Stop pretending you don’t. I know you’re not scared of him. You go to his office hours all the time. You _want_ to talk to him about steamy trains and pistons and heat all _night.”_ She pops the candy out of her mouth as she stares knowingly at Rey.

Rey colors with anger and some other emotion she doesn’t want to name right now. “That’s the _last_ thing I want to do, especially since last office hours he made it _clear_ he doesn’t want me babbling —”

“Forget that. If you knew he wanted you, like _really_ wanted you … would you go?” 

Rey knows she must be a fine shade of pink. Her lips purse into a slight pout as she very obviously takes too long to answer.

“So you want him, but you’re not going to go.” Jannah clicks her tongue and opens her palm, still staring at Rey. “You owe me, Rose. I told you she wouldn’t.”

That does it. 

“No. No! _Fine.”_ Rey is nothing if not constantly ready to prove herself. She scrambles up from where she’s been laying down in the backseat. “What do you want me to bring back?”

Rose considers. “A book — No, his laptop! And you can give it back to him in class on Monday.”

“Brilliant,” Rey agrees gamely.

Jannah speaks up. “A photo.” 

Rey clicks in her seatbelt and glares. “Of what?”

“Of Mr. Solo tied up.”

Everyone in the car goes deathly still.

“Jannah …”

“You heard me.” She turns around from the passenger seat to look in Rey’s eyes. “You’ve got rope, haven’t you? Just tie up his wrists while he’s asleep, so the poor man can still walk around when he wakes up.” Jannah pricks up a finger. “Oh, and forget the laptop: just bring back one of his belts instead.”

After another thirty seconds of awful, awful silence, Rose looks about to defend Rey, but then she just shakes her head and laughs as she turns the key in the ignition. “Oh, my god. Oh, my _god!”_

Rey can barely get over her shock before she explodes _. “Rose! Jannah!_ You _can’t_ be serious!”

“A belt should be easy to find, shouldn’t it? Just one of the top drawers in his bathroom. Or perhaps,” Jannah turns back around to Rey, “you can check his bedroom.” 

Rey is starting to feel quite sweaty despite her costume being more than breathable. “You two are the absolute _worst_ …”

“Remember, Rey, a photo and a belt, and you’ll give the belt to him first thing in class on Monday,” Rose says cheerfully as she brakes at a light. “If not, then you’re sleeping in the lobby for the rest of the week … or in your car, wherever’s more comfortable.”

Rey crosses her arms and glares out the window. She is _not_ going to freak out over this. 

“I am never, _never_ taking a class with the two of you again.” 

* * *

It’s easy enough to use the patio furniture to climb onto the roof, and once Rey scrambles onto the shingles, there is, miracle of miracles, a window slid open. 

_He can’t be such a dunce that he leaves his windows unlocked, can he?_

It is the work of a moment to nudge the screen off its track, and then she can push the window wider and slip through onto a carpet-covered hallway. After she eases her boots and socks off, she inches forward on bare feet, trying to get a feel for the layout in the dark. 

There are other rooms in the hallway besides the one at the end of the hall. The doors are all open, and Rey peeks through them quietly, moving quickly through when she sees they are all empty and devoid of furniture.

_Why would he buy a three-bedroom house if he’s not going to use … Oh._

For some reason, the thought that Mr. Solo might want to have a family makes her stomach curl and uncurl nervously.

She plows ahead, ignoring how loud her heartbeat sounds in her throat, and pushes on the final doorknob gently, flinching when it squeaks.

Nothing. No sound from inside.

She squeezes through the tiny opening she’s made and holds her breath as she enters the room. 

Deep breathing — and a low snore? — come from the king bed against the far wall. She only catches a glimpse of black sheets and a dark wood headboard before she turns her back on the bed and heads to the dresser on the opposite wall.

It probably takes her a full minute to get the top drawer fully open. She’d move more quickly, but she’s much too aware of who is behind her to move any faster than a snail’s pace.

 _There you are._ She grabs the first rolled-up belt she sees and eases the door shut. 

She wraps the belt around her wrist, holding the buckle so it doesn’t jingle, and creeps slowly toward the bed. It’s big enough that she stops at the foot of it, keeping a safe distance as she strains in the darkness to take in the man sleeping before her.

She feels terribly uncomfortable, but she knows this is possibly her one chance to stare at him uninterrupted, to take in all the details she’s slowly gathered in her mind over the weeks of stolen glances she’s sure he hasn’t noticed.

He’s not wearing any kind of shirt, and from the distance she’s at, she can see his chest is broad, pale, and firm as a board, rising and falling with the deep breaths he takes. His arms flex around a pillow, and she watches, mesmerized, as his biceps and triceps and heaven-knows-whatever-else-muscles ripple and tense when he hugs the pillow more tightly.

She’s not close enough to see them now, but she knows there are beauty marks all over his face that have often caused her to wonder where _else_ he might have beauty marks. There, too, is that poetic sweep of handsome dark hair over his forehead, now unlined in the calm of sleep. 

She isn’t going to take the picture. She can’t do it. 

She’ll sleep in the lobby, she’ll sleep in her car, but she can’t tie him up. Not when he looks so peaceful, not when she’s seen how cranky he’s been in all of her classes, not when she knows he must be so overwhelmed from having to take over all of Dr. Holdo’s classes at the last minute.

Yes, she’ll just leave him be. 

She is halfway to the door, at peace with her decision and glad to not have been caught, when from behind her she hears a low, _“Rey.”_

She freezes. 

His voice has all the authority of his usual, “Miss Johnson,” and Rey feels her heartbeat reach an impossible rate. She doesn’t turn around, can’t speak for her utter panic.

 _Shit,_ maybe she _should_ have tied him up — his ankles, not his wrists. Then he couldn’t run after her. 

But there’s no sound behind her, nothing but the quiet rustling of sheets. And then:

_“Babe.”_

_What?_

She doesn’t breathe, doesn’t dare even _blink._

Did he …

A groan. “Rey, _baby,_ come —”

He turns and the rest of his sentence is muffled. A few seconds later, and then she can hear him breathing evenly into the pillow again.

Rey stands stock-still for what feels like half an hour.

All right. So maybe she _would_ tie him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for Rey’s [Halloween costume](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/57/8f/bc/578fbc5f327fa98d5ebef2d214c79a34.jpg) (without rope)
> 
> More fic updates and fun if you follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/flybluejay_). Next chapter update will either be tomorrow, November 2nd, or Thursday, November 5th. If you have a preference, let me know in the comments! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is fully complete and will be updating regularly. **Please note the updated tags for chapter 3.**
> 
> Everything is consensual, because these two love to go at it like bunnies.

In public you don't say nothing

In private you scream my name

I can keep your secret safe

— [“Love Struck” (Boyz II Men)](https://open.spotify.com/track/5bXNCPNdgTSYbA9NECTOLk?si=n4dcYUJ_Tg2iSf6__pIuLQ)

— [“Pony” (Leon Bridges)](https://open.spotify.com/track/0exKMPo2iind68yWTaHCrr?si=ygB2SFXbSaK3IohD6iA3zA)

* * *

_Ben hears the door squeak and sets his book down on the nightstand._

_“Rey.”_

_She seems a little shy when she slips in, maybe because she still has her costume on. She tucks hair back behind her ear as she shuts the door. “Hi, Ben, sorry. Trick-or-treating went late.”_

_“Babe.”_

_Biting her lip, she sets her hat on the floor and stands by the bed to take her boots off with her feet. Her right arm flails as she tries to find her balance._

_“Rey, baby, come —”_

_He lunges. She shrieks as he drags her across the bed and into his lap._

_“Shh, you have to be quiet. It’s late,” he scolds. “You’ve been out so late.”_

_“I knew you’d be waiting up for me,” she whispers. She reaches for his hair, pushing back a strand that dropped onto his forehead. “This one always falls out of place.”_

_She kisses his eyebrow, and he lifts his mouth hurriedly to meet hers. “I’ll always wait for you.” He can’t reassure her fast enough._

_“Really? You’re sure I’ll never have to tie you to our bed?” she teases._

Our _bed. He’s practically purring at the sound of that. “I’d let you do anything you want to me.” He bends his head, eyes hooded, and lets his eyes travel down her body._

_“You would, wouldn’t you?” She admires his body in the exact same way, except instead of studying him with her eyes, she trails her hands down his chest, down his arms. It’s only when her hands land on his hips that she meets his gaze._

_“Do your worst.” He puts his wrists together behind his back and twists so she can see them._

_Over his shoulder, he gives her the smirk he knows will get her going._

_It works. She still doesn’t look at him, mouth twisted into an adorable smirk of her own as she climbs behind him and begins to loop the rope from her costume around his hands. “Mr. Solo, you should know better than to challenge me by now.”_

_“On the contrary, it’s my favorite thing to do.” He feels the rope chafing against his wrists and shifts forward in an attempt to adjust himself in his jeans. He’s been hard since he dragged her over the bed and watched her bare legs stretch on his sheets._

_He keeps speaking into the air as she works behind him. “I love getting you riled up.”_

_“Ben.” Her voice sounds panicked. “Let go, Ben.”_

_“What?” He’s confused. “‘I’m not —”_

_“Ben! Let go!”_

He jolts awake to the sound of a pleading _“Mr. Solo!”_

“Wha- _huh?”_ He hears his own voice, as confused as in his dream, except this time his voice sounds rough from sleep and there really _is_ someone telling him to —

“Let go!”

“Who —” He realizes his hand is clutching something thin and warm. His arm is practically cramping with how tight his grip is. 

When he lets go, he pulls his wrist toward his chest — except his wrist doesn’t move. He tries again, jerking his arm toward himself, but it doesn’t work. 

He’s stuck. He’s … _tied._

“Mr. Solo …” The voice comes from behind his back. 

Young. Female. Unmistakably British.

His mind barely has time to cycle through fear, anger, and surprise before he has the earth-shattering realization of _who_ it is he’s speaking to.

At that point, his mind settles decidedly on _arousal._

“Who’s there?” he says. He keeps his tone low and teasing. 

If she wants to play, _oh,_ he can play. 

He’ll play all night if this voice belongs to who he thinks it does.

“I think you know who it is.” The voice is quiet.

He swallows. Swallows again. Oh, he is _definitely_ hard. 

_God, could he even_ do _this? She’s an undergrad. Which means she’s twenty-one at the oldest. Not to mention, she’s his_ student. 

It didn’t matter. At this point, she had quite literally roped him into it. 

And if she was into it, he couldn’t be held responsible, right?

Yeah, so maybe he’d lose his job. Maybe have to switch degree programs. Be labelled a sexual predator and forced to tend bar or become a firefighter or something. 

But he would definitely, _definitely_ have one night of the best sex of his life … and it is the irrefutability of that point in particular that convinces him to finally _commit_.

“Why don’t you come over here and let me see who it is for myself?” He subtly tests the knots with his wrists, and smirks at the fact that his arms are good and immobile. 

Oh, she was a _menace._

He can almost feel her smile behind him. “You know, I think I’ll stay right here, thank you very much … but _do_ let’s talk about what you said while you were sleeping.” 

He panics.

“You heard that? I mean …” He scrambles for words. “What did I say?”

“Don’t you remember?” Her deep voice lilts and teases, and he’s torn between pure, blinding _thirst_ and the terrifying thought that she’s only here to laugh at him and leave him alone.

He’s sitting up straight now. “Refresh my memory about what I said.” He swallows the lump in his throat. “Please, Miss —” His throat is so thick, he can barely get the words out. “Miss Johnson.”

“See, you’d called me something rather different, though.” She hums. “Was it Rey? Or was it … _baby?”_

He groans. “I —”

“Well, if you can’t remember what you’ve said, I think I’d rather you not speak at all, hmm?”

“Rey.” He is hard, _so_ hard. And she’s not even touching him — not even being _nice_ to him.

“Mmm, too late. Close your eyes.” 

_“Rey —”_

“Mr. Solo, please. Aren’t you tired of being the one giving directions all the time?” She’s like a siren, the way her voice slides straight into his parted lips. “I think it’s time you let me teach _you_ a lesson.”

 _“Fuck,”_ he swears under his breath.

“Speak up, please. I can’t hear you.” 

“Fuck,” he says much more decidedly. “Yes. _Hell_ yes.”

A second later, a warm hand slides gently over his eyes to make sure they’re closed, then pushes him back till he is sitting against the headboard. 

“Now I’ve tied your hands,” he hears her shuffling in front of him, “to make sure you’re well and truly stuck. Because bad boys get to look, but not touch.” 

He hears what sounds like fabric sliding, and despite the coolness of his room, he is sweating bullets, barely breathing as he imagines what she could _possibly_ be doing.

More rustling, then: “You can open your eyes now, Mr. Solo.” 

_Mr. Solo._

First, he sees _her._ The literal woman of his dreams, kneeling before him on his bed. Her figure is blurred in the darkness, but he can see that her cheeks are flushed, and he sees the way her hair fans on her shoulders in soft, brown waves. The cowboy hat she was wearing earlier is now on the nightstand.

Then his eyes travel lower. 

She’s wearing ... a bra.

He knows there are other ways of describing what she’s wearing, words like _lace_ and _lingerie_ that he knows exists for something that looks like this. Somewhere in his brain he’s heard those words and knows how to use them in everyday conversation, but this is _not_ an everyday situation, and Ben’s brain is completely fried.

It’s red. 

It’s _tiny._

His mind strains for more, but comes up empty.

It’s fucking _hot,_ is what it is.

He hears a strangled noise come out of his throat and tries to follow it up with a slightly more human noise.

“Shh.” She holds up a finger to his lips. “Don’t hurt yourself.” Her smile is shrewd, and he feels his cock only getting harder. 

“Good boys use their words and tell their students about their true feelings,” she continues. “But since you weren’t able to do that … I think I might have to punish you.”

Before he can think of what to say, some kind of thin fabric slides into his mouth and forces his tongue back. He gags a little when the material hits the back of his throat. 

It’s … _her shirt._

Greedily, he inhales in all he can of her scent, a heady mixture of her lotion and her skin, clean and soft all at the same time. 

She looks into his eyes. “All right?” she asks, face genuinely concerned, and he nods, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.

This was more than all right. This was a dream come true.

The dream gets more perfect when he feels her slide his sleep pants down.

“Mr. Solo? Is this all right?”

_Mr. Solo._

She’s fucking stripping his clothes off and she’s _still_ calling him Mr. Solo? 

At this point, he’s drooling into the cloth. 

She’s watching him carefully, and the full curves of her smooth skin in the darkness make her seem otherworldly and ethereal. He barely manages to nod as he burns her figure into his memory. 

She pulls his pajama pants down over his hard-on, releasing a bit of pressure on his cock as he feels himself pop up, then she sits back happily, as though she’s relieved for him. “Now, tell me: why did you say my name in your sleep? Were you dreaming about me?” 

She looks stern, and he rushes to nod. 

Whatever punishment she wants to give him, he’s ready for it all.

Or at least, he _thought_ he was ready, till she climbs on top of him to straddle him. 

Then she starts rolling her hips with her hands on his shoulders, and Ben is painfully aware of how hard his dick must feel her against her ass. He feels even more pathetic when he realizes he’s started pushing against her as she rides him with her skirt on, desperately humping the air as her ass makes awkward contact with his hard-on.

Apparently she makes him a damn _animal._

“Dreaming about your student, are you? Isn’t that a bit naughty?” 

She grinds down extra hard for emphasis, and Ben could swear he sees stars right there on his ceiling. 

“But as you constantly remind us, you’re _not_ forty-five years old. You’re _much_ younger than that.” 

He wishes her shirt weren’t blocking his view of her body, because as much as he loves the curves of her down-turned face, he wants to see the way her muscles must be flexing, the way her hips must be rocking, and the way her hands must be gripping the sheets as she rides him.

“Since you’re _so_ much younger than forty-five, I expect you must have a fair amount of energy. Although since I’m even _younger_ than you,” and as she says _younger_ she gives a little push that sends him reeling, “I suppose I have even _more_ energy than you. And I suppose since I’m a cowgirl, I ought to have something to ride, don’t you think?” 

Finally, finally, she lifts her eyes to look into his. 

And he sees … _fear._

He sees adrenaline, lust, and impatience, too, all of the same emotions he’s been feeling for weeks now. But he also sees uncertainty, possessiveness, insecurity — all the same feelings he himself has had ever since he’s met her. 

And in the middle of it all, he sees _youth._ He sees her energy and liveliness in the burn of her eyes, so bright that she is burning life into him. 

He makes a decision. 

Narrowing his eyes, he straightens to his full height against the headboard and looks at her firmly, willing her to listen by the set of his brow. It’s the face he makes when he wants his class to shut up and pay attention, and he knows it works on everyone — including her.

She stops rolling for a moment, eyes wide and slightly cowed. After a moment, she obeys. 

She carefully pulls her shirt out of his mouth and sits back, waiting for him to speak.

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, and this time, he is conscious to let his desire and defenselessness flood his eyes, just as her feelings flooded hers. 

“Rey.” 

The scrape of his voice is rough in the darkness.

“I know you’re scared, but … I want you.” He exhales shakily. “I’ve wanted you since the day I met you, Rey. Can you forgive me?” 

_Forgive me for wanting you._

The smile she gives him is gentle. “Then I need to ask your forgiveness as well, Mr. Solo.” She looks at him from beneath her eyelashes, lids lowered to the point of hypnotizing him. “Because I’ve wanted you for awhile, too,” she finally admits. The words tumble off her lips, and she gives him a small look that has his heart pounding.

“Ben,” he rasps. He is being reborn, and his voice is just catching up. “Just call me Ben.”

“Ben,” she repeats slowly. Her tongue sharpens the vowel with her accent, and he smiles at her for the very first time.

His name hadn’t been his name till he’d heard it come out of her mouth.

He tells her what her own name is. “Baby,” he murmurs, lips quirking as he caresses her with just his eyes.

Her hand meets his cheek, and the fingers of her left hand curve straight into his dimple, right into place like they’ve always belonged. Her eyes light again with something like rapture, and then she laughs, perfect teeth glinting as she throws her head back. 

He lifts his knees against her lower back to hold her as she bends, and the feel of her ass sliding down his legs ignites him, more quickly than before now that they’ve admitted their true feelings.

“Rey … ride me.” 

“What?” Her nose wrinkles in confusion, but it quickly disappears when he leans forward to brush his lips against hers. 

“Please ride me, baby,” he murmurs into her mouth.

She owns him now, and he’s no longer afraid to beg.

She pulls back to bite her lip, and she’s looking at him so innocently, and all he wants to do is help her feel confident again, and —

“Do you have any condoms?”

He jerks his head toward the nightstand, never taking his eyes off her. She lifts her legs over his lap, and when she bends over to rummage through the drawer, he lets himself ogle the curve of her ass hanging out of her skirt. She’s close enough for him to just _grab_ and _squeeze,_ if he could only use his hands ...

“I do hope you’re enjoying the view,” she says primly, still shuffling things around in his drawer. “Oh!” He hears the familiar crinkle of the foil packet. “Extra-large?” She snorts good-naturedly, laugh tinged slightly with disbelief. “That’s a bit bold, isn’t it?” 

He quirks a _very_ smug eyebrow at her. 

_Oh, sweetheart._

When she bends before his lap, her ass is in perfect view in front of him, and he’s starting to wish her little denim skirt would disappear into thin air. 

“When does that come off?” he asks impatiently. _“Fuck,_ that’s — _mmph!”_ Her touch is featherlight on his cock, and his hips twitch up in a desperate search for friction.

 _“Fu—”_ He thrusts into the air when her fingers stroke tentatively down his cock, and she glares at him as she moves around to straddle him again.

She happens to slide just close enough that he can lean forward and nip at her neck. 

It doesn’t surprise him how quickly her heart is beating when his mouth hits her pulse point, nor does it surprise him that her nipples are hard when his bare chest brushes her bra. But it does surprise him _immensely_ when she bites back. 

His teeth are on her neck, but _her_ teeth are on his ear, and when she slides her hands down to his pecs and tugs with her mouth, he feels like the world has spun upside down.

 _“You —”_ he chokes, “you — Rey —” 

He’s _furious,_ and way too tied up to be _this_ turned on _._

This time, he attacks the curve of her neck and sucks with all the force of his too-thick lips, willing it to bruise as quickly as possible. 

Her teeth on his ear clamp much too hard.

 _“Fuck!_ That _hurts,_ Rey!” 

She pulls quickly back, holding herself off of him. “Oh, I’m _sorry,”_ she sniffs. “I thought we were trying to _hurt_ each other.”

Her brow is curved fiercely, and in the dark he sees her mouth set stubbornly. “Lie _back,_ Ben _._ ”

She pushes his chest without asking, and he is powerless to slow the speed of his fall. When she climbs atop him, domineering, his balls and dick rest lightly against her sex. 

“I am _not_ letting you take this out on me. I’m here because I’m taking this out on _you._ You let me think that I’m _no one,_ that I don’t mean anything to you, but that was _never_ true _,_ was it? You’ve wanted me, _needed_ me, for so much longer, and yet you never said anything _. Why?”_

Her eyes and mouth are as fierce as a lion’s, and she’s whispering very harshly and quickly. Ben now knows all of his mistakes, every single one of them since he first stepped into the same room as her.

He should never have ignored the fact that he’s never wanted anything as bad as he’s wanted her. 

He should never have told himself that he would be able to live for three whole months without trying to make her his.

“Ben,” he hears her say. She is sliding a pillow under his ass, which eases the tension on his wrists, still bound behind him.

In a silent plea for forgiveness, he tilts his hips up to rub the underside of his cock against her. He’s so hard that he’s curving toward his stomach, and when he thinks he feels her clit under her skirt, he focuses on that spot. He is looking straight into her eyes when she puts a warm hand on his chest and slides her palm over the head of his dick.

 _“Mmmph ... ahhh ...”_ He doesn’t sound manly in the least, doesn’t sound even halfway in control of himself, but him sounding in control is no longer the point, is it? Not when they’re both half-naked in his bedroom, with him moaning under her as she admonishes him for his childishness.

She leans onto his thighs, still imperious as she splays back to flaunt her décolletage. He almost wouldn’t think he’s rubbing her in the right spot if he hadn’t noticed that her jaw is gritted much too tight.

She’s spreading his pre-cum around his head, and the smooth rub of her palm is making him see white. _“R-Rey,”_ he begs, rubbing harder against her palm. 

She continues her interrogation, barely moving as she works him and lets him work her. “Have you made yourself come while thinking of me? And _don’t_ lie,” she insists. 

_“Yes,”_ he groans, and now it’s so easy to tell the truth. 

“When?”

“Tonight. After I saw you.” 

“Good boy,” she purrs. 

She is smiling to herself, obviously pleased at his admission. Somehow, her innocence still makes its way into her vanity, and he rubs harder against her, simply wanting to make her _happy._

“Your skirt made me come — _unnnnhh —_ _so_ fucking hard.” 

There is a rustling and he feels her weight come off of him. From his position on his back, he can’t bend his head low enough to see what she’s doing.

“Wait, Rey, come —”

“You mean this skirt?” he hears suddenly.

Her weight is back on him, and in her hand is the little skirt, held up for him to see.

 _“Fuck._ Yes, that skirt. Baby, let me —” 

He wants to see — oh, how _desperately_ he wants to see. Do her panties match her bra? Does she shave herself completely bare down there? Is she _wet?_

“And aren’t you lucky I didn’t wear knickers tonight?”

Fuck his _fucking_ life.

He’s literally whining like a dog when he starts, “Rey —” 

But all the breath and desperation go out of him when he feels her hand sliding the condom on before she centers herself over his cock. 

Then, she begins to drop. 

_“Ben …”_ Immediately her eyes search for his. 

It’s the same way she looks for him when she asks a question in class, the same plea she uses when she is anxious for help with an answer.

So he doesn’t think twice: he jumps in to encourage her. 

“Rey, sweetheart _…_ Just _look_ at you, baby.” 

Her eyes are begging him, large with urgency, and his arms strain against the ropes as though he is guiding her onto him with only his mind. 

“ _Fuck,_ you’re tight. So tight, I don’t —” He chokes as she moves slowly into his field of vision. 

“Oh, my god,” she whines. “God, Ben, _help …”_

“You — _uhhh,”_ he moans, “— so perfect, Rey. Perfect for _me_.” 

She is warm all around his cock, and all he wants to do is thrust straight up and straight home, but she’s only halfway down, and he wants _every single part_ of her he can have.

 _“Rey,_ baby, my _cock_ is going inside you. My whole cock, right inside your pussy — _uuuhhh_ —” He stares up at the ceiling, breathes out rapidly, then looks back down at her as she continues to lower.

Her tits hang into his face, just slightly out of reach of his mouth. Her breasts are curving down into her red lacy bra, and he looks up at her, frantic. “Take it off — _please —_ I _swear_ I’m gonna _—”_

She unclasps her bra and lets it fall onto his abs. 

“Rey _, fuck,_ I wanna —”

He can feel the second she is all the way down him. He pulses his dick and throws his hips up experimentally, and their combined gasp is so loud, it almost sounds like a shout.

 _“Ben!”_ she scolds, and it’s his turn to laugh, as loud and as long as he wants … until she begins to move.

There is no space of her pussy that his dick isn’t filling, yet somehow she uses the little room she has to rock tentatively: first forward and back, then in tiny little circles, as though she’s using his prick to write her name inside herself.

When she closes her eyes and sighs little breaths of pleasure, he gasps _yes_ and _Rey_ and _fuck, so hot._

If his hands were free, he’d have them all over her ass — both hands grabbing, kneading, slapping, and pulling her up and down as she milks his cock like she was born to do it. 

When her hand on his thighs clenches a little too hard, he moans how good she’s being for him. She smiles down at him with her eyes still closed. 

“No, _you’re_ good, Ben.” With one hand on his abs, she pins him down gently as she repeats the words back to him. “So good you’re being — _ahhhh_ — letting me ride you.” 

Her hips trace a deft figure eight as her moans get hoarser and louder and longer.

 _“Oh,_ Ben … _Bennnn … ahhhh!_ ” 

“That’s it, baby … you’re _fucking_ taking it, Rey … yes baby come baby _fuck baby come baby —”_

She breaks into pleasure over him, and Ben nearly breaks his neck trying to watch her as she comes.

He would have forgotten his own name at the sight of her if she wasn’t whispering it when she came.

 _“Ben,_ that was … you’re so —”

“So pretty, sweetheart.” He interrupts her, panting. “So pretty when you come on top of me.” He can barely balance with his hands tied behind him, but he’s already awkwardly bouncing her on his pelvis, his dick wedged so tight and deep into her he isn’t sure he’ll be able to pull it out. 

From a distance, as though she’s yelling above water, Ben hears Rey calling his name.

_Ben, stop._

_Stop, Ben!_

“Ben!” 

She is pushing against his shoulders, and he has to admit her push is strong. She has all the fierceness of a woman ignored.

“I said _stop,_ you idiot,” she tells him, as she starts to pull herself off. They both gasp as her pussy walls seem to suction to his cock, making the going very slow. 

“Holy _fuck_ — _”_ he chokes. He grins very smugly up at her. “Can’t let me go, sweetheart?” 

“You —” she slips off, “—utter arsehole! I’m trying to untie your hands, and you’re too busy trying to impale me like a loon.” 

“Can’t blame me for trying,” he huffs proudly. He tilts his head down as he tries to get a glimpse of her pussy, but she’s already moved behind him and pushed him up to untie the ropes. “And you can’t talk to me like that,” he adds in a pretend-stern voice. “I’m your professor.” 

“Funny, you didn’t try to pull that card when you were balls deep inside me.” She snorts, and he chokes back a laugh.

“Keep being funny if you want. As soon as you get this off, I’m gonna —”

The rope slips off his wrists, and he _pounces,_ twisting her to the headboard from behind. Her bra slides off his stomach and falls onto the floor.

“Gonna teach you all about _trains,”_ he growls into her ear.

He sets her hands on the headboard and nudges a finger into her slit as he whispers nonsense to her about _heat_ and _steam_ and how _wet_ she is _._ He continues with that train of thought as he slides back into her from behind. 

His talk is only briefly interrupted when he feels himself bottom out in her, and his voice goes out completely when he realizes he’s all the way inside. He manages to recover by telling her how perfectly he fills her up, how perfectly she can take him, and how much _more_ he wants her to take. 

She nods and tells him, _Yes, Ben, please_ in that sexy, low moan just like in his dreams, and that’s when he decides to show her how the word _piston_ is just as much a verb as it is a noun.

He _pistons_ into her full throttle, _pistons_ like a smooth machine. One hand is on her tits, his thighs behind her thighs, and the whole bed is shaking back and forth in his force. He can almost see what they look like in his mind as Ben Solo fucks his student, Rey Johnson, from behind. 

Because he isn’t a freight train, isn’t a steam train, isn’t any kind of inhuman, cold, heartless thing.

He’s an animal and a man, a beast of the hottest blood, unleashed on this girl who has made him realize he doesn’t need to have everything under control in order to feel good about losing himself.

“Ben, let me — _Ahhh!”_ She lets out a true scream of pain mixed with pleasure as one of his thrusts hits her way too deep. The scream pushes her voice higher than he’s ever heard it before, and he feels his mind go blank as he comes deep inside her.

* * *

Rey is gasping below him, back arched and arms shaking as she clings to the headboard for dear life.

She can hear him stirring behind her, and she groans as she feels his weight shift. “Ben, you’re hurting me.”

 _“Shit.”_ He tries to pull out of her, but she’s squeezed so tight around him and he sounds too out of breath to fight the resistance. “Sorry, babe.”

Suddenly he wraps a hand around her breasts and lowers them down on their sides, till he is curved all around her, mouth panting at her neck with himself still inside her.

“Ben, your sweat is all over me.” She makes no move to get away, instead pushing herself further into the muscles of his chest.

“Hmm.”

“You’ll let me have a shower in the morning, won’t you? ‘Cause you’re really _quite_ disgusting.” She sniffs, pretending to be offended.

“Mmm ... yes, I’ll give you a shower, baby.”His throat moves against her bare shoulder as he speaks, and the vibration of his voice jolts a full-body shiver through her, unprovoked.

“Baby,” he repeats. He seems to do it for the sole purpose of feeling her shiver again — which she does.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been smiling, doesn’t know how long she spends replaying what’s just happened, but at some point she feels his arms loosen around her and hears his breathing even out in sleep.

It’s only when she feels his cock soften and slip out of her that she wriggles out from between his arms. She moves as slowly and quietly as when she first came into the room, still trying not to wake him, but now with no trace of fear.

Gently, she pushes him over and works the condom off of him, nose wrinkled in concentration when she finally gets it off. 

It’s at that moment that her phone vibrates in her skirt.

_Shit. Rose._

She’d forgotten all about her friends waiting to drive her off as soon as she’d followed through on the dare.

She hopes it’s a text message, but when the vibrations don’t stop, she cradles the condom carefully in one hand and picks up the phone with the other. 

_“Rose,”_ she hisses in a vicious whisper.

“Where the _hell_ are you, Rey? We’ve been out here for an hour.”

“Shh, I’m here, I’m fine, it’s just —” She glances at the figure on the bed. “He caught me.”

“He _what?”_ Rey hears Jannah grab the phone from Rose. 

“He caught me,” Rey repeats, whispering intently.

“So why are you whispering if — Rey, are you coming or not?”

“I — I don’t know.” She stares at the used condom in her hand, then back at the bed.

“What do you mean, _you don’t know?_ Did Mr. Solo catch you or not?” Jannah sounds urgent, but Rey can hear Rose in the background.

“You dumbass, he _caught_ her. What do you think has been _happening_ for the last hour?”

There is silence on the other end. Rey is biting her lip as she waits for her friends to catch on. Suddenly, she hears movement on the bed.

She turns and sees Ben sitting up and looking at her. He looks so sleepy and confused, she can’t help but be pulled to sit in his lap. She leans herself against his torso as he stares helplessly at the condom in her hand.

She watches him as she says her next words. “I think … you two can go home.” She looks at him questioningly and he doesn’t respond — just looks at her with his lips parted as though he’s trying to memorize her face.

“Yes,” she says more decidedly, finally moving her eyes away from Ben. “Go home. I’ll be fine.”

She holds the phone away from her ear and grins sheepishly at Ben as loud screeching comes from the earpiece.

“I _told_ you, didn’t I _tell_ you —”

“Shut _up,_ Rose, holy _fuck_ —”

Rey is laughing to herself now, big, silent laughs that might be contorting her face in unattractive ways — but she doesn’t care. 

Rose and Jannah, as usual, fight over who gets to have the last word.

“Oh, she is _not_ sleeping in the lobby tonight. No, sir!” Jannah.

“No, Jannah, _sir_ is what she calls _him!”_

“Rose!” Rey protests at a normal volume.

Ben still hasn’t caught up, doesn’t seem to know what they’re talking about, but the sight of her smile seems to make him smile, too. He licks his lips slowly as he watches her. 

Rey decides she’d rather be doing something else at the moment. 

“Well, ladies,” she says, looking straight into Ben’s eyes, “Mr. Solo certainly got his trick tonight … and I think I’m about to get another _treat.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fic updates and fun if you follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/flybluejay_).
> 
> Stay safe this week! The last chapter will be posted on Thursday, November 5th. 
> 
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ben holds office hours, Rey is first in line — VIP access, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note the updated tags for chapter 4.**
> 
> Check out the [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5sBEfaN7TqO8R5bIwfhSaq?si=odvP3HOaRFqza_RElkTt_g) 🎵
> 
> Inspiration for Ben’s impassive-but-internally-laughing face is drawn directly from [this Omaze promotional video of Adam Driver](https://youtu.be/0XJ9JGeSMi0) where somehow, miraculously, he never cracks a smile.

I want you, you know I do

And I wanna let you love me

— ["Let You Love Me" (Jervis Campbell)](https://open.spotify.com/track/6w8emJs59a4lKbeyfZekSz?si=5WXXAWxORaGWjlsNquEZPw)

* * *

**Jannah: This isn’t a fucking joke, Rey. I can’t** **_believe_ ** **this is the first time we’re seeing you since last night.**

**Rose: I’m starting to think she showed up late to class just to avoid us.**

**Rey: call it payback**

**Jannah: Nice job hiding those hickies btw**

**Rose: LMAO**

Rey slides her phone back into her bag, right next to the belt she’d snuck from Ben’s room, just as she makes eye contact with him. 

His expression is completely unreadable.

“Miss Johnson, I need you to stay after class, please.”

“All right, Mr. Solo,” she agrees, nonplussed. 

None of the other students bat an eyelash at Mr. Solo’s request as they file out of the room.

No one, that is, except Jannah and Rose. 

Rose has almost dropped her backpack with how hard Jannah is hitting at it. The two of them are the last ones out of the room, and Jannah can’t help yelling, “Have fun, Mr. Solo!” before Rey hears the loud thwack of Rose hitting the other girl’s arm. 

She stifles a smile and turns to Ben.

“Yes, Mr. Solo?” She keeps her tone neutral, doesn’t try to move any closer to him, just twitches her lips to hide her grin as he walks slowly around his desk. 

She hadn’t taken her eyes off him all class. Hadn’t taken out a pencil, hadn’t so much as unzipped her bag — just set her things by her seat and leaned back in her chair to do nothing but _watch Ben._

For all her friends’ teasing, she had never allowed herself the luxury of just staring at him. In office hours, she tried not to look at him too long. In the classroom, she only made eye contact when she had asked him a question about something, when it was clear that he had to look at her. 

She’d always wanted his eyes on her; she’d just never imagined just how long he’d already been looking.

For as she watched him, she realized he had been watching her, too. He anticipated the moments when he would say something that he knew she’d find interesting: he’d glance back at her, only slightly unsure, when he’d crack a joke or throw out an interesting fact. He must have seen all those times she had smirked at something he’d said. All those times she was concentrating on her work, head bent on her desk, she wonders what he’d thought when he looked at her.

She’d have to ask him the next time she was on top of him.

“Miss Johnson,” he starts, “are you aware …” He doesn’t continue, and she looks up at him quickly before ducking back down, grinning madly. 

The glimpse she’d caught of his face revealed he had a very sober expression … except for an odd quirk of the lips that told her he was having as much fun as she was. 

It was all she could do to keep from bursting into laughter then and there.

 _“Yes,_ Mr. Solo?” she grits out.

“Keep your eyes up when I’m talking to you, Miss Johnson. Or don’t you have any manners?”

She immediately lifts her eyes to the board. “I am _so_ sorry, sir.” He sounds so impassive, and she does her best to sound as _dreadfully_ apologetic as she possibly can. “Dear me, how could I forget?”

She knows he didn’t miss her sarcasm when, out of the corner of her eye, she sees his nostrils flare. 

_Heavens,_ but he was lovely to look at.

“Miss Johnson,” he begins again, “are you aware that this university has a dress code?” 

“I am, sir.” The university had no dress code that she was aware of. She feels a rush of joy at how easy she’s finding it to step into the role of dutiful schoolgirl.

“And are you aware,” he taps a pen against the desk, voice hard as a line, “are you aware that the top you have on now is in extreme violation of that dress code?”

“I am, sir.”

“You — you are?” 

He seems so adorably caught off-guard.

“Yes, sir. My midriff is clearly showing, and if I were to take off my cardigan, you’d be able to see that my bra is black today.”

He sucks in a breath, and she again bites the inside of her cheek to hold back a smile — but he catches it.

“Are you laughing at me, Miss Johnson?”

“No, sir, of course not!” She makes a face of mock surprise at him, and watches as his features only harden in response.

_Oh, he was good._

_But she knew she was better._

“I did have a question for you, sir. That is, if you don’t mind?” She looks up at him expectantly, and watches as his expression absolutely refuses to soften.

“Fine. What is it?” He sounds properly dispassionate as he circles back around his desk. 

“Trick or treat, Mr. Solo?”

He freezes with his back to her. She barely hears his quiet _Fuck._

“What was that, sir? I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”

He doesn’t turn around. She wonders if it’s because he’s getting hard.

“Treat,” he says firmly. His voice has regained all the decisiveness of a minute ago. 

“Very well.” Her bag and cardigan drop to the ground. “You said this shirt is in violation of university dress code. So why don’t I just … _take it off?”_

Her shirt is immediately over her head and tossed lightly on his desk. 

His back is still to her, but she sees him glance at the shirt next to him. _“Rey,”_ he lets slip. 

_Not Miss Johnson anymore, eh?_

“This any better, Mr. Solo?”

She’d _known_ that black was a smart decision. It was confirmed when she saw the look on his face once he turned around.

_Panic mixed with anger mixed with laughter mixed with … want._

_“Miss Johnson …”_ he growls. He is now thoroughly returned to the role of scolding teacher. “What is this?”

“Your treat, sir.” She looks at him, genuine and smiling. “Or isn’t this what you wanted?”

He steps incredibly close to her, but she holds her ground as he grabs her shoulders and twists her a bit. She realizes he is using his body to shield her from the window.

As he turns, the light hits him, and she realizes she is finally close enough, and there is finally enough light, for her to look into his eyes for the very first time. 

The center of his eyes are a milky chocolate brown, but they blend out in an uneven circle into a light golden color that pierces her through. The mirth in his irises is unmistakable. There is playfulness, possessiveness, self-loathing, and worldliness in the depths of the depths of the _depths_ of his eyes. 

But beneath it all, at the bottom of his soul, there is a layer of care. A layer of affection that somehow she feels the weight of as though it were sitting in her hand ... and somehow, in the midst of this playful scene, she knows he _has_ placed a great deal into her hands. 

What she sees in his eyes in that moment was nothing she’d seen that night when he was pressed into her so deep that he was yelling her name. Those moments were in darkness, secret and stolen, but now before her eyes, he had come into the light. 

She can tell by his eyes that he knows what she’s seen. And she knows he’s hungry to let her see more. 

“My office, Miss Johnson. _Now.”_

* * *

During his office hours, Ben works very hard. The door is locked and the blinds are down to help him concentrate, and Ben is seated at his chair, busy shoving Rey up and down his cock like it’s his job. 

Rey’s underwear and shirt are somewhere on the ground and his boxers are a sticky mess. He had barely locked the door, and she had barely pulled the blinds down, before she was rolling a condom onto his dick and he was shoving her skirt up her waist, pushing into her. 

She’s holding her phone next to his head, scrolling through class schedules as she bounces, although Ben has no idea how she can read the screen with how roughly he’s ramming into her.

“Isn’t it too early — _ahhh_ — in the semester to drop a class?”

 _“Hell_ no, it’s not. Did you — _uhh —_ fill out the form?” he asks between thrusts.

Her breasts are jiggling at an alarming speed, and her left hand is still occupied with holding her phone, yet somehow she reaches into her bag and pulls out a single sheet. 

The paper shakes like a leaf as she holds it in the air like a bronco rider.

“Got it.” Her voice is shaky too, probably because he’s fucking her so hard his sweat has soaked right through his shirt.

“Good girl, Rey.” She cries out at that. “Such a good little girl, dropping her class so I can — _uhhh —_ fuck her whenever I want.”

“I could — _ahhh_ — switch to Dameron’s class on Wednesday nights?”

 _“Fuck_ Dameron,” he growls. He was secretly pleased at the sound he got her to make and wants her to make it again. “Plus, you need to keep your nights — _fuck_ — more free so I can — _fuck_ —”

“Uh-huh,” she agrees breathlessly. She scrolls quickly with her thumb as he feels her thighs clench. 

She’s getting close. He can practically _smell_ it.

“What about Kenobi?” she says. “All his classes end before five o’clock.” 

“Getting — closer —” He doesn’t know if he’s talking about her search for a new history class or his own damn orgasm.

“Don’t you dare, Benjamin. We’d agreed you can’t come till — _ahhh_ — till we find another history class I can take.”

 _“Fuck_ history,” he half-shouts. He’s been pumping her at an impossible pace, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out. 

“Oh, well, now I _know_ you don’t mean that.” She’s a beast, he had to give her that. It’s infuriating how she sounds only slightly out of breath. Her cheeks are getting pinker, though, and Ben is doing every _fucking_ thing he can to try to make her lose her cool even further.

He slows his pace dramatically and shoves into her deliberately slowly, till she’s shivering in his arms, phone long-forgotten on his desk.

When he presses his mouth to her throat and feels, under his lips, just how fast her heart is beating, he remembers something he saw briefly in her bag between locking the door and wrestling his cock out — something that he can now use to his advantage.

“Come down on me, baby. Or I might have to use my _belt_ on you.” 

And suddenly her pussy clenches down on him. 

_Finally._

_“That’s_ it, baby.” His words are a snarl. "Oh, you are _so_ fuckin’ tight.”

He’s moving her over him now, dragging her along his cock at a pace so leisurely, it’s almost painful.

“I’m going to hide — _ahhh_ — all your belts, Ben.”

“No, I don’t think so,” he sighs into her ear. He picks up speed and revels in her gasping.

“Ben, _faster_ —”

“When did I _ever_ say you could call me Ben?”

“Last night,” she pants, “when you —”

“Oh, that was last night, sweetheart.” His whisper has turned vicious even to his own ears. “I haven’t given you new instructions today.”

She makes him go wild, and he’s more than fine with it if it means that she’ll be under him, or on top of him, or anywhere-the-hell near him. 

“I think I need to put a mirror right — there.” He takes a hand off her briefly to point a finger straight across the room. He smirks down at her. “You like what you do to me, sweetheart? You like — _fuck —_ taking this cock in my office? Turn me into a fucking _mess?”_

“Mr. Solo, I know — _ahhh_ — I know you’re just a softie on the inside.” 

He manages to choke out a threat between grunts. “Miss Johnson, this is your last warning. Now listen to your new instructions: you _will_ come on my cock. And you _will_ scream my name when you do it.”

 _“Yes,_ Mr. Solo,” she pants. “Yes, of course I will.”

“Good girl, sweetheart.”

And then he _moves._ Starts pistoning into her like one of her goddamned steam trains, building up the pressure so she can burst first, then him. 

He lifts her ass above his crotch so she is floating off his lap as he skewers into her. 

“Such an _obedient_ girl.”

He was glad she’d remembered to put that condom on him because otherwise he’d have to come all over her, and he’s hoping he’ll get to do that later tonight when he can get a much better view of her in his bed.

“Mis — _ahhh —_ Mr. Solo, _please!”_

He’s really jerking her now, arms muscles burning as he strokes up and up, hitting what feels like is the very deepest part of her. 

“I said my _name,_ baby,” he growls. “Say my _name_ when you come.”

_“B-Be-Bennnnn! Ahhhhh!”_

She arches her back, throat and mouth thrown open. He leans back to adjust, and his chair squeaks in time with his pushes. 

He is bent way back in his chair as she tilts away from him. Now he really is spearing her at the end of his cock — spearing a goddess.

She’s a vision in his arms, sleeves falling off her shoulders, perfect mouth screaming his name so loud they probably hear her on the other side of the quad.

“Rey … you look … your _mouth, fuck,_ you’re so …”

“I’m so _what,_ Ben?” She is panting slightly less now, lowered eyelids trained on him as he thrusts and thrusts. She slides two hands into his hair and tugs, looking down on him with a fierce smirk. 

_God,_ he wants to bite her. Mark her up, write his name all over her perfect face.

“You’re — so —”

He comes, staggering in the chair. It squeaks in protest as he groans into her breasts, lips closing on nothing as he bites the air around her collarbone.

He knows his sweat is staining her shirt, knows he’s soaking under his oxford, but he can’t bring himself to care about any of it right now. He just shot a load right into the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen who just happens to be his student, and he _could_ not be fucking happier even if they delayed his dissertation defense to ten years from now.

He’d regret nothing he’d done in his sorry life if what he’d done had somehow brought him closer to her and to this moment. 

He finally turns his head up from where he’s rested it on her shoulder and eyes her from below. She meets his eye, brow arched down at him.

He leans back and lets his gaze travel over her. Her neck red and marked, shirt twisted every which way and a little grubby from his hands, her cheeks and nose flushed and quivering under the adrenaline they’d both spent.

“You’re so beautiful,” he sighs.

Her expression reassembles itself into something like … _compassion_. 

“You are, too, Ben.”

She kisses one of his cheekbones, then the other. “So. Beautiful.” 

With her finger, then with her nose, she traces a soft line down the very middle of his face, splitting in half the ridges of his forehead, nose, and lips.

He’ll forever love the way she splits him in two and conquers all parts of him.

“Ben, you know how this works.” 

He rushes to catch her lips in his before she can continue. 

After a breathless minute, she pulls away and looks into his eyes. “You know you’ll always do what I tell you to do.” 

He knew it. _Oh,_ how well he knew it.

And for the rest of his life, that was exactly what he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My next fic is complete! Featuring stripper!Rey and Clyde Logan 💋 I'll start posting on November 16th. Follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/flybluejay_) to see the fanart and be notified when it updates! 
> 
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed cowgirl/college student!Rey and prof!Ben — may they live happily ever after, as these two forever deserve.


End file.
